


sea prune stew

by awkwardedgeworth



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: AtLA AU, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29576316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awkwardedgeworth/pseuds/awkwardedgeworth
Summary: Atsumu is a man of many things.He's a master firebender, lightning wielder and the newly crowned Fire Lord.He is, unfortunately, not a good cook.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 8
Kudos: 143





	sea prune stew

**Author's Note:**

> for sakuatsu fluff week 2021, day 7, royal AU
> 
> or me back on my atla sakuatsu au bs :') i can never let go of them it seems

Atsumu is a man of many things.

He's a master firebender, lightning wielder and the newly crowned Fire Lord. He is the son of Princess Suzume and the late Prince Kazuma and brother of Prince Osamu. His nation is thriving, he's married to his long time childhood friend and they're expecting their surrogate mother to give birth in a few months.

He is, unfortunately, not a good cook.

He'd shooed his chefs several hours ago but he should have asked them for a tour of the pantry. Atsumu lost count how many times he snuck out of the palace, knowing hallways that the attendants and his security team aren't aware of, but it took him half an hour to locate the metal pots and another fifteen to find knives.

At the rate he's going, he's not going to finish the sea prune stew.

He looms bleakly over the pot bubbling, staring at the shriveled fruits floating at the top. He's trying very hard not to tug on his betrothal necklace, an impatient habit he's developed over the years. With the fruits are chopped garlic, small herbs he sautéed with boar pig fat and a giant jar of broth he dug out of the basement cooler.

"If I increase the heat," He says, squinting dubiously at the timid orange flame at the base, knowing that he can make it jump a foot in height as easily as breathing, "I might burn the bottom. If I don't increase the heat, it won't burn but it's nearly sunrise and I don't know how long it'll take to make."

Atsumu sighs, digging out the letter Lady Akemi had given him. It'd seemed so simple— you cut things, toss it, fry it and then set it to boil.

He hears movement down the hall. That should be the early risers of the palace staff, the ones who get up earlier before firebenders. He gives a panicked look at the kitchen windows, dark red appearing in the distant horizon.

Atsumu digs his fingers into his hastily tied pony tail, the short stub brushing the nape of his neck. He makes a noise similar to a metal kettle whistling, smoke and sparks shooting out of his nose.

" _What are you doing._ "

He shrieks, grabbing the wooden spoon as Kiyoomi steps into the kitchen, wearing a loose red robe— Atsumu's sleeping robe in fact, with a golden dragon embroidered on the back— and an expression of irritation stitched on his forehead. His hair is loose, coming down his shoulder in gentle waves.

Prince Kiyoomi stalks forward until he's toe to toe with him. His voice is ruffled and irritated, "Atsumu, what did we say about sleeping through the night and not getting up to tend to court matters?"

Kiyoomi smells like bath oils. It fits, since his favorite past time is to soak in the royal spa. That and it's the one of the few places the ministers and nobles can't enter because they'll be hounded every hour of night and day otherwise.

"That, um, sleep is very important."

Kiyoomi's eyes aren't amused. They're as dark as the sea storms Atsumu can see from the highest towers of the palace, "You collapsed last week in court because you didn't sleep for two days straight."

"Yes," Atsumu feebly agrees, "But—" 

"It's the week of your coronation, I've cleared your schedule _months_ in advance with Advisor Kuroo. Better yet, give me any correspondences. Are the southern islands asking for help again? I can ready an airship in half an hour—"

"No, no, no! They're fine!"

"Then what urgent matter do you have that you snuck out of bed when you know we're suppose to meet Motoya at the docks today with—"

Then he catches sight of the mess around them— the two chopping boards on the counters, the different knives thrown in the sink, the bottles of spices pulled out of its shelves, herbs stripped of their leaves and the opened bag of fire flakes, spilling onto the counter. There's a still smoking, black cloth that had caught on fire, shoved deeply into a corner behind mysterious jars of pickled things.

Atsumu prays his chefs wouldn't mind one missing towel as Kiyoomi's eyes narrows.

"What's this?"

Atsumu, summoning every ounce of prowess and training he went through since he was a third of his height, dances forward and blocks Kiyoomi from lifting the lid.

Frost appears on the stone floors. Atsumu's teeth starts to clack together.

"Atsumu! Is this fire flake soup? Healer Arai is going to be furious if you don't drink his teas! You had a stomach ulcer from overworking last year!"

"I drink that disgusting shit every morning with my breakfast!"

"My fucking ass—"

"Oh, a _great_ one—"

"—You haven't ate breakfast with your mother, brother, Rin or I for the past week!" Kiyoomi stabs his pointy finger into Atsumu's chest.

"I had meetings! Problems don't stop appearing when you're the Fire Lord!"

"Your grandfather was still the Fire Lord last week! He cleaned up any paperwork before he stepped down!" Kiyoomi snaps.

For a second, they're nose to nose. The flame beneath the pot is wheezing, barely holding on as frost creeps up the counter. 

Atsumu sees the worry and frustration and lack of sleep in Kiyoomi's eyes, the bags more pronounced after he came back from the southern islands yesterday from dealing with the bandit attack. He wanted to give Kiyoomi a break when he came back yesterday, but the ministers immediately pecked him like vultures to a carcass, dragging him into meetings the moment his foot touched the palace tiles.

Atsumu runs away with the pot, praying the lid is secure, streaking towards the pantry.

"Tsumu, come back here!"

"Nope!"

"Why not?!"

"Not telling!"

A nearby sink explodes, water shooting out of the spout and forming a menacing wall as tall as the ceilings, blocking his path. 

Atsumu is a master of evasion, having most of his experiences from angry benders trying to kick him down and avoiding giggling noble daughters before he married Kiyoomi.

So he sucks in a breath, warming it in his mouth before breathing out a stream of fire strong enough to knock the water wall down, emerging to the other side. He's soaked in the process and he hopes Kiyoomi doesn't mind his sleeping robe being laundered earlier than it needed to be.

He hears the telltale whooshes of water whips darting through the air and waits.

Then he jumps, leaping past them as he lands on the stone tiles. He dodges a flying snowball with a yelp, nearly skidding on the frost.

"Cheat!"

"As if you're not one!" 

Atsumu turns a corner and laughs to himself, knowing the tall shelves is blocking Kiyoomi from landing a clean shot at him. He twists, avoiding another snowball sailing for the back of his exposed neck. To his horror, they start curving and he bats one off with a well placed elbow, yelping.

"Got you."

A pair of arms snags around his waist and pulls him flush against a chest. Kiyoomi spins him and presses him in a tight alcove where the chefs usually sit for break, breathing hard. There's a stool by their feet, sunlight streaming in from the little window.

"You don't play fair," Atsumu pants, looking up to see the neck of Kiyoomi's robe loosening even further, slipping to show off a collection of fresh, mauve marks on his neck and collarbones. The sunlight is hitting one side of his face, bringing into clarity everything from each individual strand of his eyelash, his dark brown eyes and the sharp planes of his cheekbones.

It still manages to burn him from the inside, looking into this face every morning.

Kiyoomi seems to be thinking the same thought, cheeks darkening. He raises a hand, curling around and pulls on the leather cord Atsumu had around his hair.

The drag of blunt fingernails on his scalp causes his eyes to flutter to a close and Atsumu tips his head back without much complaint, eager.

Kiyoomi tastes like the sea and sun. 

Atsumu presses closer for another kiss, letting a hand tilt his chin up as the sun fully rises, warming his skin.

"Sea prunes...." Kiyoomi says, breaking away. 

Atsumu removes one hand from the pot and punches him. Hard. Kiyoomi doesn't even flinch. He laughs, bright and clear.

"The pot lid is secure, how did you know?" Atsumu stomps his foot. Kiyoomi is still cackling and makes halfhearted attempts to block him. "Answer me, asshole—"

"Your hair smells like the soup fumes," Kiyoomi says, pressing a kiss on Atsumu's neck. Atsumu feels teeth before Kiyoomi raises his head, "And I recognized the spices. You've been writing to my mother, haven't you? Only she would encourage you to add fire flakes into a Water Tribe dish."

"I— _Wait_ , so you're telling me it doesn't have fire flakes?"

Kiyoomi kisses the embarrassment on his cheeks, blowing cold air from his mouth as he rubs his cheek against Atsumu's like a very friendly fire ferret, "Of course not, it's a Water Tribe dish, Tsumu."

"But—"

"Every time she cooks, she tries to merge the flavor profiles of the Earth Kingdom with Water Tribe food."

"I thought this was a secret family recipe! She asked me to swear on my name and everything!"

"She's just teasing," Kiyoomi pulls on the pot. Atsumu lets him have it now that his plan of waking up Kiyoomi with breakfast in bed have gone up in flames. The sea prunes look softer at least, "It smells good."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"But it's so... not right. I swear, when I visited the Northern Water Tribe, the stew tastes different," Atsumu smacks his mouth loudly, as if he could recall the taste by memory. "I tasted it a million times when it was bubbling. There's something _off_ about it."

"Probably because the chefs back home use rice wine vinegar."

Atsumu stares at Kiyoomi's face, "They what."

"Use rice wine vinegar. You know, that bottle over there, the one you didn't take out of the shelf."

"But—" He whips out Lady Akemi's instructions, waving it in front of Kiyoomi, "—But your mother didn't write that down!"

Kiyoomi snorts, "She probably asked one of her friends for the recipe. She never eats sea prunes if she can help it, says she's not fond of the texture. Her friend definitely won't know that the chefs add more vinegar to accommodate for my palate."

Atsumu leans his forehead on Kiyoomi's collarbones, groaning, "Ugh."

Kiyoomi easily holds onto the pot with his large, bony hands, tilting Atsumu's head up so he can press their foreheads together, "Come, let's given Yao and Tai Li the kitchens back."

"You managed to keep old man Yao out of the kitchen? He chased me and Samu out with a spoon when we tried to sneak mango puddings."

Kiyoomi gives him a smile, deceptively kind, "I just reminded him that I could freeze all the water in the pipes and make his kitchen unusable if he doesn't listen to me."

" _Prince Kiyoomi_ ," Atsumu drawls, raising one eyebrow as they step out of the alcove together, "You're supposed to rule with kindness and grace."

"Sometimes you need drastic measures," Kiyoomi leads him. Atsumu sees the kitchen staff hovering by the entrance, all of them greeting him good morning and ignoring the state of his flushed cheeks as they quickly enter, the door shutting behind them.

Kiyoomi passes the pot off to one of the kitchen boys, "Jun, do you mind serving that with the rest of breakfast? We'll be in our rooms. And give Yao and Tai Li our apologies, his Royal Highness left cutting boards and knives around the sink."

"Of course, Prince Kiyoomi."

No one bats an eye at the marks blatantly displayed on Kiyoomi's neck, but the moment they turn the corner, Atsumu quickly jerks his hands on the lapels, ears burning. He's thankful that the attendants keep their thoughts to themselves and shoves Kiyoomi into their room where he immediately gravitates to the blankets, curling up beneath them.

Atsumu pokes the lump, "It's morning."

"It's not even five. Don't lump me with half of your countrymen," A hand shoots out and Atsumu joins him, swaddled in comforters as his robe hikes up to his thighs. It's warm under here, and he hums, content to be held with Kiyoomi's fancy hair oils permeating the sheets.

He should get coronated more often, not remembering the last time they had so much free time to lounge around in the morning. 

For a while, Atsumu nearly dozes off to the feeling of hands running through his hair. Blunt nails scratch against his scalp and he listens to the sheets rustle before feeling a mouth suck on his lips. Between one breath and the next, they've shrugged out of the thin robes, skin pressing against each other.

"Why the soup?" Kiyoomi says sleepily, mouth pink, the sun hitting the top of his head. His hair isn't black but a very deep brown.

"Just wanted to do something nice. You really helped me with the southern islands issue."

Kiyoomi grabs his hand and kisses the palm. Atsumu's chest swells as high as sea waves as the first rays of the sunrise breaks over the mountains and hits Kiyoomi's betrothal necklace.

"Always."

**Author's Note:**

> please remember to wash your hands and stay socially distant :)


End file.
